the fire and turned to head back to her seat when a hand grabbed her wrist.
“Since you got to spend the afternoon daydreaming by the river instead of helping with the chores, you can wash the dishes.” It was Mavin Holcott, her words mocking, a scrub brush in her other hand. Lynaelle started to protest, but Teress Turlgoode was there too, nodding her head in agreement, although the look on her face was much kinder than Mavin’s. Lynaelle knew they expected to be obeyed. The girl’s mouth snapped shut and she reluctantly accepted the scrub brush from the hateful woman. With a smug look of satisfaction on her face, Mavin turned and stalked off to join the crowd gathering around Ambriel, Teress close behind her. Lynaelle sighed and tested the water in the kettle. It wasn’t quite hot enough, yet, so she sat down to wait. She looked forlornly toward the gathering crowd, knowing full well that she would not be able to hear Ambriel’s story
Ambriel had finished his pie and was now in the process of lighting a pipe, his feet stretched out before him. She watched the elderly man as he savored the taste of his pipe for a moment longer, then began to blow the smoke into dancing shapes, a trick that delighted the small children in the group and made them squeal and clap their hands. Lynaelle smiled, familiar with this particular cantrip; it was one of the first bits of magic Ambriel had taught her. As he began his tale, Lynaelle reluctantly turned away, pushed the sleeves of her blouse up to her elbows, and tested the water once more. Satisfied with the temperature, she took up a bowl and the scrub brush and went to work.
Lynaelle felt movement at her back suddenly, but before she could turn around Daleon was seated next to her, that familiar mischievous smile on his face.
“Need some help?” he asked, reaching for a bowl.
“Sure,” she whispered back, “but you don’t have to. This is my penance for ‘daydreaming’ all day, according to Mavin Holcott.”
Daleon snorted in derision. “That cranky old dame isn’t happy unless she’s making everyone else miserable,” he said out loud, drawing a few irritated stares from people sitting at the back, closest to the two of them.
“Shh!” Lynaelle urged, not wanting to rile the woman any more than necessary. “It’s all right. I can manage the dishes. Go enjoy yourself with the rest of them.” She turned back to scrubbing.
Daleon, however, made no move to depart. “So?” he asked, still holding the bowl.
“So, what?” the girl replied, getting a tingle in her stomach. She sensed what he was about to ask her. She found herself imagining what it would feel like to kiss him, and wished she hadn’t, for that made the knots in her stomach even worse.
“So, do you want me to bring some firewood over to your cottage tonight?”
Lynaelle swallowed nervously, thankful it had grown dark enough by this time that the young man couldn’t see. “Uh, urn, yes, okay.” Stop acting like a thimblehead, you foolish girl! She took a deep breath. “Yes, I would like that. After I get Ambriel home.”
Daleon arose, setting the still unwashed bowl down next to the rest of the pile. “All right, then. I’m going to have another slice of pie and go listen to the story.” He smiled that smile once more, and Lynaelle felt goose bumps and shivered. “Don’t make me wait too long, though.” He spun on his heel, a pie plate in his hand with a full quarter of a pie still in it, and went to join the rest of the crowd.
Lynaelle stared after the handsome young man as he departed, both thrilled and worried. Then she turned her attention back to the dishes and sighed, staring at the dirty bowl. Typical, she grimaced, flinging it into the water and attacking it vigorously with the brush. Their idea of helping is to keep you company while you do the work. And I, of course, was swooning with delight the whole time, like some addlebrained maiden. Humans may understand the ways of love, but I sure don’t.
Ambriel finished his story, and as the gathering began to break up, Lynaelle hurriedly finished the dishes and went to escort her mentor home. It had begun to rain, as she had expected, but under the protection of the forest it was really little more than a light drizzle. Nonetheless, the two pulled the hoods of their cloaks up to protect them from the dampness. Lynaelle fetched and carried a lantern for them as they walked along the path toward Ambriel’s cottage at the edge of the hamlet, her other hand on his arm.
“I missed your story tonight,” she lamented. “You must promise to tell it to me tomorrow. Mavin and Teress ordered me to do the dishes.”
“Did you get them nice and clean?” Ambriel teased.
“I did,” Lynaelle said indignantly. “Daleon came over and offered to help, but he just ended up talking my ear off.”
Ambriel chuckled. “I think he’s sweet on you, Lynnie.” Lynaelle stammered, “I…he…I…I find him interesting, I suppose.” She hoped she sounded noncommittal. “He seems like such a scoundrel, though. Don’t you ever get a sense that he’s up to no good?”
“Of course. All the time,” Ambriel replied, a chuckle in his voice. “Especially where your virtue is concerned.”
Lynaelle made a strangled noise and sputtered “Ambriel! That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”
“What’s wrong, Lynnie? Worried that you’ll no longer have my undying love?” he teased. “Don’t worry, I promise not to be too jealous.”
Lynaelle rolled her eyes. “You’re terrible!”
Ambriel laughed at her reaction and continued, “As for the dish duty, well, I suppose it’s only fair, seeing as how I keep you busy with other things most of the day. There are some who feel we don’t do our share. Mavin more strongly than most.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the work,” Lynaelle replied, grateful for a change of subject. “It’s just the way she delights in glaring at me. What did I ever do to make her hate me?”
Ambriel grew quiet for a time before answering the girl. “This world holds many wonders, for those who have the gumption to go find them. But some folk can’t seem to see past the differences between themselves and everyone else.
“I will tell you this, though, child. For every cold and unhappy person like Mavin, there is a person who cares not one wit about your heritage, only that you are warm and kind and trustworthy. Those kinds of people you can be proud to call ‘friend.’ Like Daleon, for instance.”
Lynaelle groaned, realizing Ambriel had found a way to bring the fellow up again. “He’s convinced you to help him charm me. You’re conspiring together!”
Ambriel chuckled. “Don’t disparage his kindness too quickly, child. He seems to find you interesting enough.” They had reached Ambriel’s cottage.
“Yes, I know. He’s coming over tonight to talk for a while.” The girl admitted, her tone warning Ambriel against further quips at her expense.
The pair entered into the cottage, and Lynaelle began took his book of spells over to a trunk at the foot of his bed. He uttered a few phrases, softly enough that to light the various candles and lamps while Ambriel Lynaelle could not make them out, and then lifted the lid, He deposited the book atop a folded section of royal blue canvas adorned with a silver crescent moon sheltering a single silver star.
Ambriel had once shown Lynaelle some of the various items he kept stored here, mostly old books written by some of the most powerful sages and wizards of Silvery- moon. There were a few other things there, too, pieces of memorabilia from his younger days such as the scrap of canvas. It was the flag of Silverymoon, and when pressed on its origins Ambriel claimed it had been given to him by Alustriel Silverhand herself a number of years ago. Whenever Lynaelle asked him why, he refused to say. She liked to imagine that it must have been to honor him for some great deed.
The elderly man firmly shut the lid and softly recited a few new words, then turned to face the girl. “I know I’ve told you this over and over, but-”
“‘Promise me you won’t ever try to open this yourself,’” Lynaelle said in unison with her mentor. “I know, I know. And, like always, I promise.”
Ambriel smiled, but it was sort of a sad smile. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you, Lynnie.”
Lynaelle went to Ambriel then and gave him a hug. “Don’t worry I will never open your chest. Besides, I don’t really want any of your smelly old books, anyway.”
Ambriel laughed at this and turned to hang up his cloak. “Get out of here, you insolent child. Go have fun with Daleon.”
Lynaelle hesitated, wanting to make certain Ambriel was settled in for the night. “Are you sure? Do you want me to brew you some tea?”
